


What Happens in Vegas

by Septembers_coda



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abuse of Angel Powers, Anal Sex, Angst, Biting, Blow Jobs, Bondage, Bottom!Sam, Bruises, Dom/sub, Erotica, Face-Fucking, Jealous Castiel, Jealousy, M/M, Porn With Plot, Possessive Behavior, Possessive Castiel, Rough Sex, Season/Series 08, The Trials, Top!Cas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-06
Updated: 2013-12-06
Packaged: 2018-01-03 15:28:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1072095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Septembers_coda/pseuds/Septembers_coda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's a lie that what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Happens in Vegas

Sam was drunk, and unaccountably, it made Cas very nervous.

It wasn’t like Sam would (or could) hurt him. He wasn’t even mad at him, even though he had more reason than Dean, who always seemed to be mad at him. But, though Cas had caused Sam so much suffering by taking down Death’s wall that protected him from the memories of the Cage, ever since Cas had taken those memories, Sam seemed to have completely forgiven him. Sam was even kind to him, kinder than Dean had ever been.

He was being kind now, in an unusual way. He was talking to Cas animatedly. A _lot._

Cas had accompanied them on their annual pilgrimage to Las Vegas. He did not understand the appeal of the place, though he found many, many people here who needed healing. He had spent the first day helping people, but Sam, to Dean’s vague disgust, had insisted that Cas come with them to the casinos tonight.

He didn’t know why he was necessary. The Winchesters had a pattern Cas had observed, almost a plan of attack, that they unwittingly followed each time they were in Las Vegas. Dean got quickly and efficiently drunk and tried to engage in as many forms of debauchery and sexual activity as possible in a short time period, while Sam carefully cased the casinos, picked the most vulnerable one by standards Cas didn’t quite understand, and proceeded to acquire as much cash as possible. He was better at it than any of the other humans here, who seemed determined, contrary to their loudly expressed desires, to give all their money away.

But the brothers seemed to have switched places. When he’d last seen Dean, he had been ogling women as usual, but somewhat morosely and half-heartedly, and he hadn’t been drinking at all. He was trying to win cash, like Sam usually did, and he was nearly as good at it, but seemed to take little pleasure in it. Things were not going well between the Winchesters.

And Sam… Sam had taken on Dean’s heavy drinking habits, but instead of pursuing women, he was talking to Cas, and standing close to him, and… touching him. He seemed to take every opportunity to brush shoulders with Cas, touch his hand, lean closer to him than was strictly necessary when he spoke. He was doing this now.

“Cas,” Sam was saying, swaying on his feet as he stepped far inside the zone that Dean called ‘personal space.’ “C’mon, Cas, let’s go back to the room. Dean won’t be back for hours.”

“How will we accomplish your goal of acquiring money from the hotel room? I thought you were going to teach me games of chance.”

Sam grinned down at him at and clutched his arm. For some reason, his vessel’s heart stuttered at the look Sam gave him when he said, “I’d rather teach you something else.”

A passing cocktail waitress giggled, and covered her mouth when Cas glanced at her. “Very well,” Cas replied, steadying Sam with one arm while Sam held onto the other. “Do you… require assistance?”

“Yeah,” Sam said, as if this had just occurred to him, and leaned heavily on Cas. Cas held him upright and walked him to the elevator.

As soon as they were inside it, Sam suddenly began to touch Cas in ways he never had before. Cas froze as Sam reached under his trenchcoat to push at his clothes, and gasped when he felt Sam’s mouth, wet and open, press into his neck.

“Sam…”

“God, you smell _amazing,”_ Sam said, and pulled Cas abruptly closer. Before Cas could respond, he was clasped in Sam’s arms, and Sam was kissing him.

Cas’s mind spun. He knew now what Sam wanted, of course, but he had no idea Sam would ever want it with _him._ Sam did not pursue sex relentlessly, as Dean did, but as far as Cas knew, when he did, it was always with women. He also knew that Sam was heartbroken over Amelia, and quite drunk, and possibly not very mentally stable. Not that Cas could cast stones.

But he was surprised at the rush of feeling that flooded him when Sam brought his mouth to his. His body instantly responded. When Sam crushed him closer, he felt the swell of Sam’s arousal against his belly, his pulse thudded alarmingly and he was suddenly hot, far too hot, and Sam’s mouth, reeking of liquor as it was, was the sweetest thing he had ever tasted. His arms came up to fold Sam against him, his mouth opened beneath his, and as soon as the elevator opened, he found himself staggering out, locked in Sam’s embrace and half dragging him, half being dragged to their hotel room.

Before the door had even closed behind them, Sam pushed Cas backwards until he fell on the bed, kissing him frantically. Cas gasped as Sam’s weight landed on him, and arched helplessly against him. Sam laughed softly. His drunken clumsiness had disappeared.

“Cas,” he rasped, lips against the angel’s ear. “God, at last.” He helped Cas pull his arms out of the trenchcoat and stripped off his suit jacket. “I never thought… I didn’t think you’d let me, but I wanted you so much…” He seized Cas’s hips and jerked them against him, grinding into him with a gasp. He gazed down at him, eyes liquid with lust.

“Dean thinks of you as his, you know,” Sam slurred, loosening Cas’s tie, pulling it over his head, and tossing it on the floor. “He always wants everything for himself, even if he would never take it, not like I will. He’ll never give you what I’m gonna give you… at least tonight. We can have tonight, Cas, can’t we?” His tone became pleading suddenly, and he gazed into Cas’s eyes, and Cas’s heart contracted at the torment he saw there.

“Sam,” he said gently. He tried to ignore the racing of his own heart, but he felt helpless to the actions of his hands; they began undressing the younger Winchester of their own accord, caressing him as they did. “I would give you anything. You know that. But you—I do not wish you to regret your actions. The weight of your regret is so heavy already…”

“No regrets, Cas,” Sam panted, pulling off the rest of Cas’s clothes impatiently. “Don’t you know? What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas.”

Any further protest Cas might have made came out, instead, as a cry of startled pleasure as Sam groped between his legs, his touch just a little too rough and insistent to be tender, his lips and teeth travelling quickly, wetly over Cas’s torso until he suddenly took Cas in his mouth, dragging him in deep, sucking slowly. 

Cas had never imagined a physical pleasure like this. He surrendered utterly. He would not know how to fight this if he’d wanted to. And Sam… beautiful Sam. He knew he would never have the power to resist this beauty. 

Sam loved Cas as he did so many other things these days—as if it were his last night on Earth. He coaxed Cas, in a hoarse, intense voice, into acts Cas had never imagined, and Cas shuddered under those huge, beautiful hands that held both great strength and impossible tenderness.

Sam’s hurried, urgent, drunken touch, his frenzied hands and his mouth both rough and gentle, the movements of his hard, strong body filled Cas with a bliss so intense he did not understand how humans with their fragile souls could bear it. It swelled in his grace, thrumming through his vessel out into his greater being, that which his vessel could not contain. Sam drank all of Cas’s pleasure greedily, as if it intoxicated him more than the liquor he had already consumed, and Cas had thought that Sam could not experience the same ecstasy, in his mere human body, as what thrummed through his own vessel, but from the way Sam’s cries shook his grace, he knew he was wrong.

~* * *~

Sam fell into a heavy, drunken sleep afterwards, collapsed bonelessly across Cas’s chest. His mouth was slightly open against Cas’s collarbone; warm moisture puddled in the hollow there, and Sam’s wet exhalations, the way they moved the mop of hair that covered his face, tickled Cas’s shoulder. It took him some time to remember the word for that sensation.

If Cas were human, Sam’s crushing weight would have been uncomfortable, perhaps painful. Since his oxygen intake was not terribly important, Cas found that he liked it. He cradled Sam and caressed him, fingers investigating the muscled peaks and ravines of back, arms and shoulders, as he tried to name and enumerate the strange, powerful emotions that awakened and spread through him.

After some time, Sam stirred, arms coming up to enclose the angel as he stretched out, his feet hanging off the bed. He moaned softly, and Cas could not tell if the sound meant pleasure or pain. Sam seemed uncertain of it, himself.

“Cas…” he murmured after a moment. He laughed softly, and again, Cas could not tell: tender amusement, or bitterness? “I… can’t believe we did that,” he said ruefully.

“Was this experience…” Cas began, but stopped. He did not know how to ask what he wished to know.

“It wasn’t… exactly my first time with a guy,” Sam said, moving off of Cas so they could look at each other. It was not what Cas would have asked, but he listened intently anyway. “And not the first time, by any means, that I thought of _you_ that way. I just… never thought I’d tell anyone either of those things. Or act on them.”

By _anyone,_ Cas knew, Sam meant Dean. Dean did not know, and next Sam would say…

“We can’t let Dean find out about this, Cas.” Sam propped himself on his elbows over Cas, and his face, looking down on him, was somehow the most tragic thing Cas had ever seen. Seeing it, Cas instinctively clutched him as tightly as he could, and Sam pressed his face into Cas’s neck, groaning, and again that question: pleasure or pain?

“I’m sorry,” Sam said. “It’s not right of me to use you like this, but… I just, I needed something, needed _you,_ at least tonight, before… whatever happens now, with the trials. Dean—he doesn’t understand, Cas. He wants me to be OK. And I’ll never be OK, not the way he thinks of it.”

Again, Cas was flooded with emotions he could not easily name. He did not ask Sam what he meant about not being OK, because he knew—perhaps better than Sam knew himself. He chose a different topic from among the dozens he wanted to ask Sam about. 

“I never approached you, because I did not know there were… other ‘guys’,” Cas said hesitantly, copying Sam’s phrasing. “I thought you only wished for relations with women.”

Sam sighed. “That’s another thing Dean wouldn’t understand,” he muttered, rubbing his eyes. But then he looked down at Cas and smiled tenderly. “Usually it is women,” he said. “One time in college, there was this guy… at a party, before I met Jess. I was a little drunk, he kissed me, and I just went with it. There weren’t any other guys, until I met you.”

Cas tried to contain the reaction of his heart at this. He couldn’t keep his eyes off of Sam’s beautiful, expressive face. He wanted more, even in the midst of being told why he couldn’t have it.

“But I don’t know,” Sam continued. “There might have been more guys, if things had been different. There was this friend of Dad’s when I was younger, a hunter. When I met him… the way he made me feel… well, when human guys are fifteen, almost anything can make them feel that way, but it was the first time I’d felt it about a guy. I developed a huge crush on him. Dad probably didn’t know Niall was gay, but I did, and I think Dean suspected. More about my side of it than Niall’s. Otherwise, why would I all of a sudden have taken so much interest in the hunting stuff he talked to Dad about, and asked him for bow-hunting lessons, when I’d always hated it?”

“I… understand that there is some prejudice against homosexuals. Were you afraid your family would reject you if they knew you harbored those feelings?” _Are you afraid Dean will reject you now?_ Cas wanted to ask.

Sam sighed. “It’s… complicated. I think Dean was more worried that I’d get _molested._ I didn’t understand that at the time, I thought he was just being homophobic. Dean yelled at me a lot, tried to keep me away from Niall, and made fun of me for liking him, but he never directly made fun of me for being gay, not then, although he’s joked about it a bunch of times since. Actually, I think he didn’t say it then because he was afraid I’d admit it, and I might’ve.” 

Sam shook his head, his expression distant as he remembered. “Niall would never have made a move on me; he wasn’t a creep like that. But I thought of myself as a grown man, you know, and I didn’t understand why he wouldn’t respond to my… probably incredibly embarrassing attempts at flirting. I felt rejected. ”

Cas said nothing. He was interested in hearing about everything to do with Sam, but he did not know how to ask about their current situation, or express the maelstrom of feelings swirling inside him. “Are you afraid for Dean to know about men, or… about me?” he managed after a moment.

Sam’s expression crumpled. He kissed Cas then, for the first time since their lovemaking had ended, and Cas clung to him, relief mixing with renewed desire. He had feared that Sam wouldn’t kiss him again, now that his passion was slaked, and the thought was a deep ache in his chest.

“I’m sorry, Cas,” Sam said gently, stroking his face. “I’m not ashamed of being with you. I wish it could be different. But everything’s so hard right now, and Dean…he just wouldn’t understand,” he said. “He thinks of you as his, like I told you, even though he’d never… do what we just did. And in a different way, he thinks of _me_ as his, and doesn’t want anyone to get in the way of that. He’d never admit any of this, and I guess that’s the main reason I can’t tell him. Things are… so fucked up with him right now, Cas, and it’s hard enough without… complicating things. I have to make him let me do the trials. I have to.”

“I wish I could heal what they’re doing to you, Sam.”

“I don’t. I think what they’re doing to me is part of it. Making me ready, changing me.”

“It’s killing you.”

Cas didn’t mean to say it out loud. He had known it for some time, and was desperate to help, but he knew the Winchesters well enough not to interfere until the time was right. He did not think it was right now, but he could not hold back the words.

“I know,” Sam said softly. “That’s why… it can only be tonight, with you and me. And that’s why I did it. I might never have another chance.”

“I won’t let you die.”

Sam touched his face tenderly. “You will, someday,” he said softly. “You’ll have no choice.”

~* * *~

Cas took it to heart, what Sam had said about their tryst being that one night only, and never speaking of it to Dean. He tried not to gaze at Sam too long, tried very hard to resist the urge to stand too near him, to touch him. He had no idea how difficult it would prove.

In the end, he couldn’t do it. He had to stay away from the Winchesters for days, even weeks at a time. But staying away was hard, too, though of course, he had his own troubles to attend to. When he began watching Sam nearly every night, invisible, constantly imagining ways to broach the subject of a further relationship with him, answers for Sam’s arguments against it, he suddenly realized he was becoming what humans called a stalker.

He tried to stop himself. He tried to think of other things, and there were so many of them to worry about. But the harder he tried, the worse it got. 

Finally, he joined the Winchesters at the bunker, unable to stay away from Sam any longer. It hurt, even though he could tell it was only for the purposes of concealing their assignation from Dean, that Sam greeted him a bit coolly. And Dean was as brusque, if not outright rejecting, as usual. Cas was miserable, but he resolved to fight it, to learn to hunt with the Winchesters so that he could be near them all the time. It was the best—truly the _only_ —choice available to him. His love for Sam choked him, suffocated him, and the moment he tried to turn away, it became unbearably worse. So he steeled himself for the pain that he knew would come—was already there—and resolved to be as useful to the Winchesters as possible.

He tried to offer support and friendship and leave it at that, but in unguarded moments, memories of his night with Sam vividly assaulted him. In the car with the brothers, sometimes he caught the scent of Sam’s skin and remembered being wrapped in it, inhaling against Sam’s neck with his hair falling in his face. When he broke down and watched Sam sleeping, knowing that he should not, he looked at the way Sam sprawled on the bed and remembered him sprawled across _him,_ limbs tangling with his, beautifully graceless and relaxed in his arms, and he burned for it. He _burned,_ and he began to envy everything that touched Sam—the towels he dried himself with, the sheets he was tangled in at night, the very clothes he wore. It was worse when Sam touched something living. When Sam paused to pet a dog they passed in the street, Cas felt a brief but intense urge to possess the dog, just to feel that gentle hand on his head for a moment.

Cas had always loved Dean and cherished his friendship, so it was strange that he now began to resent the elder Winchester. He came to realize that this was because Dean was sometimes allowed to touch Sam, while Cas was not. Dean occasionally clapped Sam on the shoulder in congratulations or solidarity. He sometimes touched Sam’s forehead to check for fever, though this seemed to greatly irritate Sam, but Cas even envied Sam’s rough slapping away of Dean’s hand. If Sam ended up on the ground in a fight, which seemed to happen quite often now, Dean always helped him to his feet. Cas was painfully angry every time this happened; he tried to be the one nearby so that he could help Sam up, but somehow it was always Dean. He had strange thoughts of _becoming_ Dean, so he could be alone with Sam every day, and so that every small touch Sam allowed in his life would be his alone.

He knew that he had to stop, to turn back from the path he’d never meant to travel, but he didn’t know how.

One evening, Sam and Dean were following leads on a case, talking to people in a popular bar, but their approach was somewhat lackluster. Cas could feel it, though they never acknowledged it: the Winchesters were _tired._ The weight of the world grows heavy, after all. Especially on Sam. 

Cas watched Sam’s every move with growing concern and desperation. He knew Dean was worried too, but not worried enough, and not about the right things. Yes, Sam’s body was under siege from the trials, and his health grew worse every day. He himself was ready to beg Sam to let him try to help. But what Dean didn’t seem to notice, or perhaps just willfully ignored, was Sam’s deteriorating mental state. Sam, Cas realized, didn’t care about what happened to himself at all. Watching him was like watching a car driven by someone half-drunk, hurtling at top speed through impenetrable night down an icy mountain road with no guard rails. Perhaps Dean did not realize the danger of that road of recklessness, since he had driven it so many times himself.

Cas had to stop Sam, had to help him, and was completely powerless to do so.  
The Winchesters had told him there was nothing he could do to help with this case, and the strong implication was that he should leave and attend to his own business, but he was almost afraid to leave Sam alone. He could not separate his concern for Sam from his own need to be near him, and no longer tried. So he let Sam and Dean believe he had left the bar, and seated himself, invisible, in a corner booth where he could see Sam’s table.

It wasn’t long before Dean gave up on questioning the locals, chose a woman by standards Cas couldn’t fathom, went through a perfunctory pick-up routine, and left with her, after telling Sam he’d see him in the morning.

Cas thought Sam would go back to the hotel room then, and his heart leaped. Perhaps he could seize a moment alone with Sam. Maybe they could even talk about what had happened before, though this had been implicitly forbidden… but if Sam knew Cas was having trouble handling the situation, he might offer Cas some advice on how to deal with it, as a friend.

But Sam didn’t leave. He ordered another drink, and then a woman came to sit at his table. Cas recognized her as someone had Sam spoken to earlier, gathering information about the case. She’d stayed in the bar until her friends had all left.

Waiting, Cas now realized, to talk to Sam alone. Like him.

Cas waited for Sam to politely turn the woman away, or to make some excuse and leave himself. Instead, he laughed with her, leaned close to her as they spoke, and ordered a drink for her the next time the waitress neared their table. 

Cas felt a shock in his own body when Sam casually touched the woman’s hand. And when she reached up and pushed a stray lock of hair back off his forehead, Cas found himself on his feet. 

He had no words for the feeling that came over him. It was a strange sort of stillness, the sea suddenly disappearing, sucking away before a tsunami. He could see nothing but Sam and the woman, and they stood out in painfully sharp detail against the gray unreality of the room around them. Their voices carried to Cas with piercing clarity as the woman suggested they take this back to her place.

Then, as Sam murmured agreement and they stood, he leaned in and kissed her, and Cas’s heart imploded, his blood turning to molten metal in his veins.

The woman gasped and jerked back from Sam when Cas appeared, in a rush of wind, at her elbow. Sam reflexively shoved her behind him, reaching for his gun, before he saw that it was Cas.

“Cas! What’re you—”

“NO,” Cas said to Sam, voice shaking, and turned to the woman. Through the red fog of his rage, he saw that she quailed in fear; she covered her mouth at whatever she saw on his face. He forced his voice to calm slightly. “You will not have him,” he said simply. “I apologize for frightening you. Leave now.”

“Cas,” Sam repeated nervously, and stepped around him. “Look, Karen, ummm… sorry…”

Cas seized Sam’s wrist as he lifted his hand to touch Karen’s arm, snatching it away. “You are mine, Sam,” he said, and was surprised at the steely confidence that accompanied the cold fury in his voice. “No one else will have you.”

“I… didn’t know,” Karen whispered. “Sorry…” She gave Sam a frightened look as she grabbed her purse from the bar stool, then she fled the bar without looking back.

Sam glanced anxiously around the bar. Cas followed his gaze, trying to quell the raging possessiveness, to calm the wrath that still boiled through him. It didn’t seem that anyone had taken note of the little scene; the bar was mostly empty. 

Sam turned to him. He looked more stunned than angry. “Cas… look, I didn’t know you were still here. It’s not Karen’s fault, you shouldn’t—”

Sam gasped as Cas seized him and shook him once, hard, before taking his face in his hands and kissing him savagely. “ _I_ will kiss you if you want to be kissed,” Cas hissed against Sam’s lips, half-biting them. “If you want someone in your bed, it will be me. The only hands on your body will be _my_ hands. I cannot make you want me, but I will not watch you give away what should be mine.” 

He backed Sam against the wall, and to his satisfaction, Sam’s eyes were wide and he was breathing fast and hard. He opened his mouth when Cas kissed him, sought his tongue with his, clutched his shoulders and moaned softly. Encouraged, Cas crushed Sam frantically to him and kissed him wildly, tangling his fingers in his hair and pulling Sam’s head down to his. He thrust his hips against Sam’s, grinding into him, and felt Sam’s body surge forward in response, surrendering to his.

“Cas,” Sam gasped against his lips, “I didn’t… I just wanted…”

He cried out softly when Cas bit his neck, silencing him. “Whatever you wanted, only I will give it to you,” Cas whispered fiercely.

“Cas,” Sam threw back his head as Cas lipped his throat roughly. “I didn’t mean to… in Vegas, I thought it wouldn’t matter. I never thought you’d care. You’re an angel… I thought you’d be… safe from me.”

Cas’s head snapped up and he stared blazingly into Sam’s eyes. “I’m not safe,” he whispered. “I am anything but safe from you, Sam.” He groped between Sam’s legs, squeezing, and Sam swelled instantly against his hand, groaning deeply. 

The lust that raged through Cas at this response snapped his control over words; they tumbled out before he could stop them. “Mine, mine, you are mine, Sam,” he growled.

“Yes,” Sam whimpered.

“Say it.”

“I’m yours.”

Cas was ravaged by desire, torn apart by it. He folded Sam close and flew from the bar with him. He hardly knew where he took him—somewhere safe, away from all eyes, where he had Sam all to himself.

“Tell me that you’re mine!” he heard himself shouting as he pulled Sam to the floor. He tore Sam’s clothes off heedlessly, tossing them aside. “You will never touch anyone else. Your body is mine. Forever.”

He shoved Sam forward with his hands, but felt his power burst out of him without his will—or was it with all of his will, sublimated and caged for too long? His divine strength pinned Sam to the floor in front of him and bound his hands before him, subjugating him, and Cas pushed his legs apart, thrust his fingers inside him with one hand, taking him in his other hand and squeezing, tugging at Sam’s balls, then moving up the shaft insistently. Sam groaned frantically, and Cas felt him strain against his helplessness as he whispered something. He leaned over Sam’s shoulder to catch the words and heard him chant, “Yes, yes, yes,” over and over again.

“Be still,” he commanded in a fierce whisper, and bound Sam tighter with his power. “You will submit to my desires. You will obey me.” 

Some part of Cas was shocked at his words, more shocked at his actions as he took away Sam’s ability to resist him, but he could not care. Something in Sam, in himself, drove him forward. He let go of Sam and left him bound on his knees. He stood up in front of the prostrate human and took off his own pants, kicking them aside. He lifted Sam’s head, caressingly and commandingly, and rubbed himself against his face roughly. He gasped when Sam willingly opened his mouth, reaching for him with his lips.

He seized Sam’s hair and stilled him, yanking his head back, eliciting a wailing moan. “You will take me in your mouth,” Cas commanded.

“Yes,” Sam groaned, eagerly trying to move his head forward. Cas prevented him by clenching his fist in his hair.

“Ask for it.”

“Can I… can I suck your cock, Cas?”

Cas moved against Sam’s face, holding his head still. “Beg,” he whispered.

“Please, Cas. Please, I want it in my mouth, please let me suck you… I need your cock in my mouth, Cas, please…”

He pushed himself into Sam’s mouth then, fist in his hair, moving Sam’s head up and down with a strange, rough tenderness he could not truly understand, and he thrust into this sweet, blinding bliss with him.

Sam obeyed him, submitted to him sweetly, sucking hard and deep and groaning as Cas spilled into his throat, swallowing him.

But Cas had not had nearly enough, and did not know if he ever could, and the frenzied need shook him to his bones. He pulled out of Sam’s mouth and stumbled around his body to kneel behind him. He shoved into Sam hard, thrusting deep and crying out with the shock of ecstasy. He thrust harder and faster as Sam lay helpless beneath him, still bound by his power, and their bodies were flint and steel, striking volatile sparks that would burn them alive, burn down the world.

Words spilled out of him like semen as he thrust. “Say it, Sam! Say my name, and say that I own you. I do. You cannot escape me.”

“Yes,” Sam whispered, his voice fractured and savaged by submission, by unfathomable pleasure. “Yes, Castiel, I’m your slave, all yours, you own me…”

The words should have shocked Castiel back to sense, should dismay him. Instead they burned him with white-hot iron, branding every inch of his flesh with desire. He ravaged Sam’s body repeatedly, commanding him to say his name as he did so. He plundered every inch of Sam with his hands, lips, and teeth, biting and sucking and violently caressing. He demanded love and ownership and eternal loyalty as he fucked Sam hard, their flesh slapping together, Sam prone and helpless as Cas forced him into every position in which he could penetrate him. Sam gave him every vow, every submission that he asked for, and cried out in ecstasy over and over again, spurting onto Cas’s belly as Cas held his knees over his shoulders and tried to weld their bodies together. It was terrifying, devastatingly beautiful, unimaginable and undeniable, and Cas never wanted it to end.

Eventually, after hours, it did. The forge fires of ecstasy finally burned Cas to cinders, and he collapsed, smoldering, onto the ashes of Sam.

~* * *~

Cas did not know how much time had passed, afterwards, when his delirium finally began to recede. He was lying on top of Sam, wrapped tight as a bandage around him. Sam lay on his belly on scratchy, thin commercial carpeting, and Cas was pressed tightly to his back, arms clasped around his chest. Sam was very still, and after a moment, Cas crawled off of him. Unidentifiable emotion began to seep slowly into him. He felt himself begin to tremble slightly.

“Sam,” he whispered, unable to bring any volume to his voice. “Sam…”

He was immensely relieved when Sam gave a soft whine, like he was too exhausted to groan, and stretched out, turning over slowly. Relief crashed like a wave through Cas when Sam smiled, looking around himself.

“Where are we?” he asked, pushing his hair out of his face.

Cas cleared his throat self-consciously. “Biggerson’s. This one is in...” He stared into space for a moment. “Dearborn, Michigan.”

Sam blinked around at the tables with the chairs stacked on them, the orange streetlight filtering through old, tired blinds. He peered at the double-doors to the kitchen. “No one’s here?”

“No. Some branches are open all the time. This one closes at eleven and opens at six. I knew we… would not be disturbed.”

Sam laughed softly. “And wouldn’t… _disturb_ anyone else,” he said wryly. “But why Biggerson’s?”

“I am safe here,” Cas said simply. “But I… did not really decide consciously. I just took you to the first place I thought of.”

Sam nodded, and hitched himself up on one elbow, grimacing. “Um… maybe we should go back to our hotel room. Dean won’t be there… but I should probably be back in Idaho in the morning when he is.” 

Cas winced at Sam’s obvious discomfort on the hard floor. Remorse, and worry; those were the feelings that had begun to flood him. “Of course,” he murmured, and touched Sam’s forehead.

They appeared on the still-made bed in the drab hotel room where the Winchesters had briefly stopped last night, before leaving again to research their case. Sam blinked with the slight disorientation he always experienced when Cas flew him somewhere. He glanced around the room, then down at himself. He flushed a little, and brushed at some of the dried fluids on his chest, his fingers pausing over a bite mark. 

Cas, surrendering to a remorse that was almost fear, opened his mouth to release a flood of it, but before he could speak, Sam said, “Umm, our clothes, Cas?”

“Oh. I’m sorry. One moment.” Cas disappeared and returned with their clothes, which he folded neatly and set on a chair. His back was to Sam, and he felt him watching him from the bed, and couldn’t bring himself to turn around immediately.

“Hey,” Sam said softly, and Cas turned slowly. Sam opened the covers next to him. “C’mere,” he said, and Cas came, hesitantly crawling in next to him.

Sam huffed a soft laugh. “What,” he said, looping his arm over Cas and rubbing his back lightly, _“now_ you’re shy?” He gave Cas a lascivious grin. “It’s a little late for that, don’t you think?”

“Sam,” Cas groaned, unable to hold it back. “Sam, are you all right? I… I cannot explain my behavior. You are… you were already unwell, and I… my selfish desires, I was so rough with you—”

Sam abruptly pulled Cas down and hugged him close. “Shh. No, Cas. Well, yes. You were. But you have no idea how much I liked it. Needed it, even.”

“Let me heal you,” Cas begged, unable to stop himself. He drew back to look down at Sam. “Please. I…” He touched his fingers to a mouth-shaped bruise on Sam’s chest, but Sam stopped him, covering his hand with his own.

“There’s nothing to heal, Cas. You didn’t hurt me… not really. I… I never knew I felt this way, but that… it was so much more than the best sex I’ve ever had. It was something I’ve always wanted. It felt… real, you know? And like I was… finally OK. Finally doing what I was supposed to be doing.”

Cas stared down at Sam. He was utterly out of his depth. Was it really all right for Sam to want to be subjugated that way? “Why?” he asked softly. “I… did not behave like a friend or lover. I gave in to utter possessiveness and lust. I… I abused my divine power, and not for the first time, but… never like _this,_ Sam. I don’t know if I can be forgiven.”

“The way I see it, you used your power to give me something I desperately needed, something that gave us both so much pleasure. And you didn’t hurt me. These few bruises don’t count.” He smiled tenderly at Cas. “If anything, I feel better. God, Cas. I just… I tried so hard all my life to please everyone, you know? And every decision I ever made was wrong. It felt… so _good,_ just to have you _make_ me do what you wanted, to know I was pleasing you—like I couldn’t do any harm anymore. I don’t know, Cas,” he said, stroking Cas’s face. “I just… feel like myself again, somehow. Like I can do what I have to do, and it won’t all have been for nothing, because I had you.”

Cas held Sam close, pressing his face into his shoulder. “I do not deserve this, Sam,” he said. “But I want it so much. I know that… knowing how you felt about it, I will not stop myself from taking you that way again. But I do not wish to hurt you. I… wish to show you tenderness. I love you, so much. I… I could not leave it in Vegas, Sam. I was tormented by need for you, every day since. I’m sorry.”

Sam smiled. “I guess that cliché doesn’t work for us, Cas. I was wrong to try to leave it there. I love you, too. And I want all that tenderness, and everything else. It doesn’t have to be like it was tonight every time.” He drew Cas’s face to his and kissed him softly. “But,” and he grinned slyly, “I hope it will be sometimes.”

“Really?” Cas said, trying to quell the surge of desire this, impossibly, created in him. “I… Sam…”

“Well,” Sam said, stroking his sides sensuously, “I know how to convince you. Apparently all I have to do is kiss a girl.” He laughed wickedly when Cas’s arms clenched tightly around him at these words.

“You won’t,” Cas whispered, and the words were somewhere between pleading and commanding, and Sam moaned in response, sliding his body against Cas’s.

“No, I won’t. Because I’m yours,” he said.

It seemed impossible that they could feel desire now, could make love again after the shattering earthquake of lust that had gone before, but they did. It was slow and tender this time, and Cas sneakily sent healing energy through Sam while he was distracted by ecstasy. He was unable to touch that terrible wound, the strange dark presence inside Sam that the trials had created, but he was able to heal around the edges of it, and to heal all the small hurts he had caused, pouring his love into Sam, making him as well as he could.

Afterward, they lay tangled together, and Cas felt so much love he could not breathe. He was drowning in it, and in his fear of losing it. He shivered uncontrollably and clutched Sam, who held him tightly back and did not speak for several long minutes.

“I know what you’re thinking about,” Sam finally said.

“You do?”

“Yes. Closing the gates of Heaven. And the gates of Hell. You’ll be trapped in Heaven, and I’ll be…”

He hesitated over the word, and Cas kissed him fiercely before he could say it. “No,” he whispered. “I won’t let you. I will follow you. I’ll stop Death…”

“Cas,” Sam said softly. “I don’t want to die. Not… not now. I really don’t want to leave you. But Cas… aren’t some things worth the price? Aren’t we finally doing what we were made to do? This world, Cas… it’s so fucked up. I’m so fucked up, and Dean might be even more fucked up, but if we finally do this… it can get better, and he can get better. He can have a life, he won’t have to take care of me anymore.

And… if I die to close the gates of Hell…” He hesitated. “I think the trials are cleansing me of demon blood,” he said. “So… I think I’ll have earned my place in Heaven.”

“Of course you have,” Cas murmured, shocked.

“And you’ll be there, after you close those gates. So we’ll be together, right?”

“Sam…”

“Can we be?”

“It isn’t how it works. It’s strictly forbidden. But you must know that doesn’t matter to me. I would come to you, of course. Nothing could stop me.”

“Well, nothing can stop me, either,” said Sam. 

Cas looked at him gravely. “I believe you,” he said.

“So, until then, we’ll just spend as much time together as we can,” Sam said. “I’ll tell Dean everything, and it’ll give him some time to deal, to make plans.”

Cas could not stop the next words. “You are not… ashamed of me, of having a male lover?”

“You can’t imagine how far beyond that I am, Cas. How could it possibly matter anymore, in the face of everything? If I can only have one thing that I got out of this miserable, wrong-for-me life, I want it to be you. If you want me, that is.”

“You know I do. But… I don’t think I can let you die, Sam. I don’t think Dean can, either, once he knows.”

Sam stroked Cas’s cheek. “Don’t worry about that for now. Just… be with me, and let’s pretend it’s forever.”

So they did.

~The End~ 


End file.
